Sacrifices
by AlyaBlack623
Summary: Draco finds his attraction to the Gryffindor Princess getting harder and harder to keep in check. Will he risk everything he has, or try to play it safe? Story is pretty true to the events of the fourth novel. Please review!
1. Chapter 1

Draco had never tried so hard to steal a glance of a girl before. His steely eyes followed her every move, sweeping across the Great Hall as if she was the only one there. He watched as she had the time of her life in the arms of another man.

For once, Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley had something in common. Both were seemingly hypnotized by the young woman dancing with Viktor Krum.

_It seems Granger cleans up well,_ Draco thought with a smirk. He felt a smack on his arm and thought for one alarming moment that Pansy had read his mind. But when he finally managed to drag his eyes away from Granger, all he saw was her retreating figure as she muttered something about finding someone who would pay attention to her. He didn't care though, because Granger had just unglued herself from Krum and sat down with Potter and Weasley.

Draco observed them curiously. She seemed winded; her cheeks were flushed and her normally bushy hair was sleek, and starting to fall free from her loose bun, but she didn't seem to care. Draco found it incredibly adorable.

It used to unnerve him that he was attracted to Hermione Granger. After years of putting up with her quiet dignity and completely immodest and inexhaustible knowledge, he became honest with himself and decided it was perfectly alright to compliment her on the inside, so long as he was still harsh and cruel on the outside.

After all, the chances of him ever being with her were slim to none. Even if, by some strange series of events, she happened to fancy him, disapproval would bombard them so heavily and consistently that the mere pressure of friends, family, and history would be enough to doom the relationship.

_But you don't care,_ said a characteristically Slytherin voice in Draco's head. _You don't care what anyone thinks. You won't ask her out because you're scared._ Draco sighed aloud and knew it was true. Disapproval he could deal with. Rejection, however, was another thing entirely.

As Granger stormed off away from her friends, Draco realized she was angry. He risked a glance to where Potter and Weasley were still seated. Potter looked aloof, as usual; Weasley was scarlet, as usual. But there was something else. He looked angry and almost...jealous. Draco, for once, sympathized. In his opinion, nothing good could come of this Krum oaf. Weasley seemed to hear what he was thinking, because he looked over at Draco, who pretended to be waving to someone over his shoulder.

He heard an exaggerated sigh and a sniffle to his right. Draco turned in his chair to find none other than Hermione Granger, nothing short of positively distraught and looking simply stunning in her periwinkle robes.

His mind raced. _Did she sit next to me on purpose?_ His heart did a flip before a second, more cynical voice spoke up. _Of course not. She's obviously upset. The only reason she would purposefully sit next to you is if she wanted to be _more _upset._ Draco entertained the idea for a moment, then let it float away as a better, riskier idea surfaced. He furrowed his brow and determined his next course of action.

"I never would have expected that color to like nice on you," he drawled. She looked over at him, her caramel eyes shining and red. It was a back-handed compliment, he knew, but he couldn't just come out and say she looked nice. For Merlin's sake, what would she make of that?

He held his breath while she looked at him disbelievingly for a long time, and he moved his eyes elsewhere, waiting for her to say something, or to continue crying. He found nothing interesting to watch on the dance floor, seeing as she was no longer dancing, and his eyes came to rest again on Weasley, who was watching the pair with curiosity, then he bent over his lap and massaged his brow.

Just when Draco was going to excuse himself, Granger's eyes still boring into the side of his head, Krum came back with two plastic cups of what Draco assumed was punch. He muttered something to Granger and she stood up. As the pair passed Draco's table and back into the center of the Hall, he heard the softest "thank you," and looked up to see Granger smiling faintly at her shoes.

His heart both sank and lifted as he realized she had taken his comment for what it really was: a compliment.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione had been walking on a cloud ever since the Yule Ball. She had been angry at Ron's outburst, but she had received a sort of flattering comment from none other than Draco Malfoy. Perhaps it was a little childish of her, but Hermione had chosen to interpret his snide remark as a compliment rather than what she had assumed it was upon first hearing it. How many girls in the school would kill for Malfoy to speak to them like that?

As she sat in the library with her friends, poring over books for the second task, Hermione mused about being less than rude to Malfoy. _What would he do if I was nice to him? _Hermione almost laughed aloud at the idea. She knew he would show no sign at all of mercy, not in the least. That's what made him relentless; he was a Malfoy and a Slytherin.

_Oh please, you know you don't believe that rubbish,_ she thought, and it was true. Some part of her felt guilty for marking Malfoy as bad simply because of his blood and his house, when he marked her as worthless because of her blood and house. She knew she wasn't worthless, so perhaps she was wrong about him being bad. _He's under pressure,_ a thoughtful voice whispered in her head. Hermione also felt guilty about this, because she knew that it was also telling the truth. Malfoy's family and friends would, no doubt, be pressuring him to act on their beliefs, when he had no chance to figure out his beliefs for himself. He was, essentially, the able-bodied puppet of ex-Death Eaters.

She tried to shoo him out of her thoughts as Fred and George retrieved her and Ron to meet with Professor McGonagall. She concentrated instead on Harry's task tomorrow, as his chances were looking slim. Hermione could hear Ron fumbling next to her nervously, wondering why they were being called away during Harry's most urgent time of need.

In McGonagall's office stood Professor McGonagall, of course, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Moody, Cho Chang, and a petite blonde girl, who couldn't have been older than eight or nine.

Dumbledore smiled at Hermione and Ron as they entered apprehensively, and started to speak, but Hermione heard none of what he said. Her mind was again with Malfoy, wondering what he thought of the future that had already been planned for him, wondering if that was what made him so disagreeable. She wondered if he would ever try to break free of his father's grasp and figure things out for himself, make up his mind about the direction his own life is headed in.

Before she had time to ask Dumbledore to repeat what he had said, Ron looked nervously at her and she was overcome by a blissfully suffocating sleep.

She dreamt of him at the Quidditch World Cup, telling her and her friends they'd better go farther into the forest so she wasn't hurt by the Death Eaters, parading around the campsite with the muggles dangling awkwardly above them. She dreamt of him cursing Harry, and instead hitting her right in the mouth, and saw his look of satisfaction as her teeth grew to resemble enormous white tablets rather than teeth. She dreamt of him telling her he hadn't expected periwinkle to look nice on her...

And then her head broke the surface of the frigid water, and from the middle of the lake she could see him staring at her, an expression that almost resembled concern plastered across his aristocratic visage. Something was tugging around her waist and she turned to see Viktor, his head shrinking from that of a shark's to his own head again, and then she understood: this was the second task.

She continued to glance at him occasionally as she made her way back to the shore, and noted with the slightest of smiles that the concern on his face was gone, replaced why what was unmistakably relief. Hermione blushed as this registered and Madam Pomfrey wrapped a great wooly blanket around her shoulders. She felt warmer instantly, but something told her it wasn't because of the blanket.

Viktor pulled her aside again and spoke to her about the summer holidays and Bulgaria, but Hermione's mind was much farther away than Europe and the future. She was suddenly disappointed by the fact that Malfoy was Malfoy, and risked another glance in his direction. Perhaps she had imagined the relief on his face, because it was contorted into the characteristically Malfoy grimace. Hermione sighed and thanked Viktor as he pulled a beetle from her tangle of hair.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco was not the happiest of students at Hogwarts, nor had he been since the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. He was relieved (he shuddered inwardly) that Granger had been rescued, but not nearly as relieved at who was doing the rescuing.

_Krum is such an idiot,_ Draco thought. _He could have hurt her, the shark thing was a stupid idea. Besides, he didn't even do it properly._ He hoped Granger hadn't been impressed by his failed attempt at self-transfiguration. Draco had been furious to see Krum pull her away from the crowd to speak with her in a more intimate setting. What was he saying? He probably only had one thing on his mind...

Draco gave another shudder. Shortly after the second task, Rita Skeeter had written that article about Granger, and how she was supposedly playing with the hearts of both Potter and Krum. It made Draco smile to think of how wrong the Skeeter woman was; on the other hand, he wondered if Granger really was interested in either of them. After all, she had gone to the Yule Ball with the Bulgarian, and she did spend a lot of time with the boy wonder.

The thought of Granger being interested in other boys made Draco's brow furrow and his pace quicken. Before he could register that he was walking, he had arrived at the library. He hadn't even really needed to be at the library, but he decided that he might as well peruse the stale aisles while he was in the area.

As he approached the back of the library, Draco spotted a cluster of ancient arm-chairs, worn and comfy. He made his way over to them and his heart stopped. There, by the far window, was the girl who had been absorbing his thoughts. She sat with a book in her lap, and there was a paper on top of the open book. She was looking right down at the paper, and her hand was resting on her forehead, shielding the rest of her face from view.

_It's too late to turn around, just keep walking._ Draco sat down across from her. Granger did not look up. He thought back to their last encounter and decided to speak to her again.

"Where's your boyfriend, Granger?" It sounded harsher than he had meant it, but he didn't like the idea of her having a boyfriend. Of her being involved with someone. But as soon as he said it, he wished he hadn't: when she looked up to see who had spoken, he saw that she was crying again.

Draco took a second look at the paper in her lap, and saw that it was the article from _Witch Weekly_ that had been torn from the centerfold. She had stolen away to the library so no one would see how it upset her.

He was consumed for a few long minutes by a severe internal conflict. He wanted to snake an arm around her shoulders, to comfort her and make her feel better. At the same time, he had been raised to believe that this was what she deserved: pain and suffering for studying the noble art of magic.

With an audibly deep breath, Draco stood and closed the distance between them, sitting on the floor in front of her.

"I had hoped a clever girl like you wouldn't believe such rubbish published about her," he whispered, silent as anything. She gazed at him, her brown eyes shining again. He wanted to brush the tears from her eyes, make her smile, but he settled for reaching up to her lap and grabbing the article. She watched intently as he slowly ripped the article into miniscule pieces and tossed them carelessly over his shoulder. She smiled, and his heart did a flip. He smiled back.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she whispered, looking down at her book. Draco frowned. He was not prepared to answer this question honestly. Not to her, at least. He watched her nervously pick at her fingers and tried to think of a suitable answer.

"I'm the only one who's allowed to be mean to you," he said, and immediately regretted it. He inwardly cringed at how stupid he must sound to her.

"You complimented me at the ball," she said quietly, still not meeting his eyes. He wanted to kick himself; there was no denying it had been a compliment.

"Yes," he said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "I did." Granger's light brown eyes suddenly met his gray ones, seeming to search for a shred of honesty. She didn't believe he was being sincere.

Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a delicate handkerchief, beautifully embroidered with Draco's initials in brilliant emerald, and handed it to her. As she reached her hand to his, he noticed the bandages on her hands and remembered that she had been receiving hate mail.

"Hermione," he said, meeting her eyes again. "Don't listen to what those people tell you. If they're thick enough to believe everything they read in gossip magazines, then they aren't worth your time." Hermione just stared incredulously at him, and gave the slightest of nods in reply.

Draco then stood up, turned on his heel, and strode out of the library, wishing he could strangle himself for all of the kindness he had shown her.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione was extremely confused. Draco Malfoy had just given her his handkerchief, and a bit of advice. He had called her clever. He had actually attempted to comfort her. _What is happening? _Hermione watched his retreating figure.

Then she grew angry. Her face flushed and her hand closed around the immaculate white piece of cloth. She stood abruptly and let the book on her lap tumble to the floor, and she stormed off after him.

"Malfoy," she called. _This is not okay._ When he turned to her, his hands stuffed nonchalantly in his pockets, she had to take a moment to collect herself. He looked worn out.

"What," she started, struggling to find her voice. "What are you playing at?" He looked at her, his piercing gray eyes penetrating her. She noticed that his hair was slightly mussed, obviously from running his fingers through it, and Hermione had to stop herself from thinking of just how sexy he looked. Malfoy blinked at her.

"You were upset," he said quietly, puzzled at her sudden outburst. "So I tried to make you feel better." _And it almost worked,_ she thought, trying to decide how she felt about him being nice.

"Are you making fun of me?" Hermione asked, realizing that it was the only logical explanation. Malfoy smiled.

"If only," he said, and started to turn away. But Hermione didn't want him to go, she wanted answers. She reached out and turned him back around, and then realized, to her chagrin, that she was grasping his hand. Malfoy looked down sadly at their interlocked hands and smiled weakly up at her. He squeezed gently and let her go, and she finally understood.

"Wait," she said, but to no avail. The blond boy had reached the threshold of the library, and crossed it without so much as an acknowledgment that he had heard her. Hermione turned back to the place where the book had fallen from her lap, gathered her things, and strode quickly to Gryffindor Tower.

She sat in front of the roaring fire for a long time. So long, in fact, that by the time she thought of heading up to her dormitory, the fire had been reduced to smoldering ash. Hermione wandered up the stairs, still pondering Draco's behavior, and thought of him until her heavy eyelids brought her the relief of sleep.

The next day Hermione awoke seemingly more tired than she had been than when she had gone to bed the night before. She rushed to get dressed and headed swiftly down the stone steps to the common room, climbed out of the portrait hole, and all but ran into the Great Hall for breakfast. As she shoveled down her breakfast, Harry and Ron stared at her. She didn't seem to notice, as she was trying to work out how to talk to Draco about what had happened in the library.

She nearly groaned alous as she realized they didn't have Potions until after lunch, and that was their only class with the Slytherins all day. Hermione decided that her desire to solve this mystery was more important than what everyone else thought, and proceeded into the Entrance Hall, waiting for a sign of the Slytherin prince.

He didn't leave the Great Hall until it was almost completely empty: The only other students still eating were a couple Hufflepuff sixth years.

"Dra—Malfoy," Hermione called, catching herself. "I'd like a word, if you don't mind." Her eyes were fixed pointedly at Crabbe and Goyle, flanking him.

"No thanks, Granger," Draco sneered, not meeting her eyes. "I'd rather not associate too much with the likes of you." Crabbe and Goyle chuckled stupidly. Hermione turned immediately on her heel and sped up the corridor away from them, hoping Draco had not seen her look of hurt or the tears that now fell plentifully from her large brown eyes.

_Did I imagine him squeeze my hand? _Hermione thought hours later in the girl's bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror and stared at her bleary-eyed, blotchy and tear-streaked face. She watched her reflection shake its head as she did the same. She sighed.

_No, he definitely did._ And then, as if seeing clearly for the first time, Hermione said "of course!" aloud and a fresh wave of tears chased her newly discovered stupidity. _He was tricking me, _she thought miserably. _He pretended to be nice to me, pretended things would be different. _Hermione wanted to kick herself.

She made her way back to Gryffindor tower many hours later, having missed all of her classes and guessing, correctly, that most everyone would be in the Great Hall for dinner. She wasn't hungry; she just wanted to be left alone. She climbed into her four-poster and pulled the hangings around her.

Hermione stared at the ceiling until well past midnight, having heard her dorm-mates socializing excitedly, then retiring to bed and, eventually, their soft snoring, until she too dozed into another restless, dreamless sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

He had decided months and months ago that ignoring Hermione was the best course of action to take. _So then why, _he asked himself, _does it still hurt to see her pass by in the corridors, or completely disregard my existence when we're paired in Potions? _Draco watched her through narrowed eyes as she carefully measured out their dragon-tooth powder and moved to pour it into their cauldron.

"Wait!" he said, before he knew what he was doing. "That's too much, you'll make it congeal." He went to take the cup from her and heard the softest "oh!" as she realized he was so close. Their eyes met for a moment and he felt an incredible surge of warmth spread from his chest to the rest of his body. But after an instant she blinked, looked around as if lost, then found the cup he had taken from her and remeasured the powder.

"If you'd like to help," she said, her back to him, "you can start grinding up those caterpillars." It was the first time she had spoken to him since their incident in the Great Hall.

Draco wanted her to stop working. He wanted her to turn around so he could tell her just how confused he was. He stepped forward so that his chest was pressing against her shoulders. Hermione froze. She turned to him again and he reached for the jar of fuzzy green caterpillars next to the station where she had been slicing asphodel roots. He could feel her breathing against him, he saw the fear and...something else in her eyes. He smiled.

"I'll get to work, then," he said, holding up the jar and then moving to the station next to her. She blushed scarlet and sliced her hand with the knife. Draco thought fast and said, "Professor? Granger's hurt herself, shall I escort her to the Hospital Wing?"

The entire class turned to stare at him. Even Hermione had neglected her bleeding hand to gape. Professor Snape, however, looked bored as usual, and merely nodded his head once. Draco placed a firm hand on Hermione's elbow and directed her out of the dungeon classroom, still fully aware of the shocked students who were still watching him.

As soon as they were out of the dungeons, Hermione broke free of his grasp and rounded on him.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. Draco had no doubt that, were her hand uninjured, both would have been placed sternly on her hips. He almost chuckled, until his eyes came to rest on the rag that she had used in an attempt to bandage the cut. Though it was mostly crimson, Draco could still see the emerald monogram: DM. It was his handkerchief.

"You..." he started, but everything he had planned to tell her was forgotten as he goggled at his handkerchief. Should he be offended that she had used it as a rag, not caring that it was ruined? Or Should he be flattered that she had carried it around with her all this time? "You..." he said again, but he couldn't think of anything else to say.

"What?" she barked. Then she followed his gaze to the bloody piece of cloth wrapped securely around her hand and flushed again.

"Well here then," she said, unwrapping it. She took out her wand, muttered "_Scourgify!_" and handed the newly cleaned handkerchief back to him. "Now, if you've nothing else to say, I should be going to see Madam Pomfrey." She turned to head up the marble steps in the Entrance Hall, but he grabbed her wrist.

"I'm confused," he said in a feeble attempt to tell her what he had meant to say before he was distracted. She considered him for a moment, narrowed her eyes, and said, "Well that makes two of us, doesn't it?"

He almost smiled. _Would it be a bad idea to tell her everything? Yes, _he decided. _She wouldn't be able to handle the truth._ Or, perhaps more accurately, _I wouldn't be able to handle her knowing the truth if she didn't feel the same way. _He nodded his head grimly.

"You should know," he began, struggling for the right words, "I want to be your friend, but I can't. There's too much...pressure."

She watched him intently, then waited a while before smiling. "The reason I gave myself for your behavior was more credible than the cock-and-bull reason you just gave me. But it's okay, Malfoy," he cringed inwardly at the venom in her voice, "no harm done, and if you ever want to tell me the truth, I'm not exactly hard to find." At this, she turned again to leave.

"Wait," he called again. "What was the reason you gave yourself?" Hermione stopped and turned to look at him.

"I assumed you were simply making fun of me," she said, without a trace of bitterness or sarcasm. Then she shrugged and continued up the stairs to the Hospital Wing, leaving Draco in her wake, dumb-struck.


	6. Chapter 6

She had decided months and months ago that not caring about Draco was the best course of action. _If he can't make up his mind, that certainly isn't my problem. _But as Hermione stalked down the corridor away from him, she couldn't quite help feeling a little confused, if not slightly disappointed. Did this mean he was going to start being nice to her? Were they on speaking terms? Were they enemies? She couldn't guess.

Over the next few weeks she had more pressing matters concerning her anyway, for the third task was fast approaching. She and Ron had been helping Harry with practicing unfriendly yet simple defensive spells and jinxes, and for once he seemed prepared for what was in store.

As Hermione and Ron walked down to the Quidditch pitch that evening with Mrs. Weasley and Bill in tow, they saw, not the trim grass and tall goal hoops, but twenty-foot tall hedges, dark green and thick. The Weasleys didn't seem to notice that Hermione had stopped walking, for they continued on while she gaped at the black beetle situated on the fence that led to the stands. Before she could try to catch it, however, it flew up and away from her, and she guessed it was headed for the champion's tent.

When Hermione entered the stands, she felt burdened by the seemingly impossible task of finding a seat. The Weasleys were nowhere in sight; she was utterly alone. She scanned the overly-crowded seats with trepidation, and jumped when she heard a voice very close to her left ear.

"You can sit with me, Hermione," the voice said. Hermione did not want to turn around. She had recognized the voice, deep and smooth, but she must have been mistaken. The person to whom the voice belonged never said her name. _Except for once,_ she thought, remembering her meltdown in the library. Her feet betrayed her; she slowly wheeled around and her suspicions were confirmed: there stood Draco, looking downright handsome with a hint of a smile playing around his mouth and in his eyes.

Hermione had lost her voice at that moment, and his smile widened at her surprise. He casually gestured to the first seats in the topmost row. She closed her mouth, which had formed a perfect "O" and gave him the slightest of nods. Without another word, he turned from her and started up the steps, and she felt her face grow hot at the feeling of the eyes on her back as they watched her follow him.

When they reached the top and turned to sit down, Hermione saw at least 30 pairs of eyes snap back forward to face the hedges in front of them. Even from the top of the stands, she could only barely see the tops of the closest hedges.

Ludo Bagman explained, by means of magically amplifying his voice, the rules and safety precautions of the third task. Hermione felt slightly relieved at the knowledge that Harry was prepared to fight whatever may lie within the maze, but her body remained rigid and tense. When Bagman allowed Harry and Cedric to enter, Hermione found herself gripping her seat so hard that Draco chuckled and took her hand.

"You need to relax," he said, clearly amused at her nerves. "There's nothing you can do now but wait." Hermione knew she was right, but that didn't mean she was happy about it. However, her spirits lifted at the realization that Draco had not let go of her hand, and he seemed intent on keeping it that way. Her amber eyes found his gray ones and she looked down, flushing. Draco chuckled again.

After all the champions were released, the tournament got a bit dull. Hermione wished there was something going on solely to distract her from Draco's smiles, which he threw her way every so often.

The sky grew darker, and it was a long time before Harry showed up with the Triwizard Cup and Cedric's dead body. For a moment everyone was still and silent, as if contemplating whether or not the image before them was real.

Then it was pandemonium. Dumbledore could be seen rushing to Harry's side, and people everywhere were screaming and rushing to see what was going on. Hermione could hear Harry yelling that You-Know-Who was back, and a shiver ran down her spine. She looked around frantically, hoping to see one of the Weasleys, but then gave up, let go of Draco, and ran down the stands into the crowd, trying to reach her traumatized friend.

Getting to him proved to be much harder than she had originally thought, and by the time she was standing on the spot where he had materialized, he was being dragged back to the castle by Professor Moody.

_Don't panic. Get a grip._ But it was hard to stay calm when everyone else was freaking out. Before she could so much as take another step forward, she was knocked forcefully to the ground. The side of her head made contact with something hard and sharp, and she could feel wet warmth flowing from the new wound. Frantic students kicked and trampled her in their futile efforts to evade the place that had been built for competition and celebration.

Hermione eventually grew too tired and weak to attempt sitting up. Her surroundings were spinning, and the last thing she heard was a worried voice, somewhere far away, calling her name.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys I'm really sorry that this chapter took so long, I was having a lot of trouble making it convincing and then a whole bunch of stuff came up to the point where I was getting home after 11 pm every night for almost two weeks. **

** BUT this is the final chapter, and I've decided that the end of this would make it possible for a sequel (which would take place during sixth year). So tell me what you think of this and if you think I should write a follow-up, because I don't have the whole plot worked out just yet, only the ending. **

**Thanks for reading!**

Draco was frantic. _Where had she gone?_ By this time most of the panic-stricken spectators were filing anxiously out of the stadium, so Draco scanned the crowd hopefully for Hermione. He ran back up onto the stands to get a better view of the mob forming at the exit. But as the rest of the place emptied, he finally found her. She was on the ground, seemingly unconscious, and there was a steady trickle of blood from the side of her brow down her face. She was ghostly pale.

Draco lifted her gently and sat, Hermione resting in his arms, rocking her back and forth. It seemed days before her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him.

They were now almost completely alone, as there were only a few teachers who stayed back to make sure nothing was going on at the Quidditch pitch, and they were not paying attention to the couple lying in the grass by the monstrous hedgerows.

Night had already fallen, but Draco felt like the sky had grown much darker than it had been only 20 minutes earlier.

"What's happened, Draco?" Hermione continued to stare at him as he held her. He could feel himself start to tremble, and wondered whether or not he should lie to her. _She's the cleverest girl in the year, and she's Potter's best friend, she's bound to find out the truth somehow._

"Potter came back first," he started, not exactly wanting to recount what he had just seen and heard. "He was screaming that the D-Dark Lord was...was back. And he was grabbing hold of Diggory's body. Hermione, Diggory's dead. And I think Potter's right about _him_ being alive again."

He had expected Hermione to be scared, and perhaps even cry. He had expected her to be anything but calm. And yet, he watched her, amazed, as she closed her eyes and nodded her head once. Then she tried to stand up.

Draco grasped her hand firmly as she swayed on the spot, and when she embraced him it was all he could do not to kiss her. He musn't be her friend anymore. He musn't be her anything.

"Hermione," he began, wanting to explain everything to her, but she shook her head.

"You," she said, "are the only son of the Malfoy family, known Death Eaters, and you will be expected to remain loyal to You-Know-Who." She spoke softly even though they were alone. "I am the muggle-born best friend of Harry Potter, and anyone with half a brain knows I will remain loyal to him."

Draco half-smiled at her immediate comprehension of what must be done.

"Therefore," she continued, "we are not anything but enemies. We always have been, and we always will be." She smiled. It was not one of her winning smiles that she wears when her friends make her laugh, nor the bashful smile she wears when she answers difficult questions correctly in class. This smile was sad and sweet, and left no doubt in Draco's mind that she hoped they would both survive the rest of the Dark Lord's reign, even if they were on opposing sides.

With that final smile she turned on her heel to leave, but Draco caught her hand and pulled her against him. She opened her mouth to protest, but Draco merely laughed.

"We're alone, remember?" he said, and he kissed her. He put all of his energy into that kiss, all of his passions, his emotions, in hopes that she would know it was not really over between them.

And when he finally let her go, he watched her walk back up to the Quidditch pitch, wondering if the Dark Lord was worth the sacrifice.


End file.
